I think I am at some sort of crossroads, a brink that will decide a lot about my future. It isn't just that I am going to graduate college this year and have to figure out my life. It isn't just that I am reaching this point where I can't make decisions based on how they will be perceived by other people. It isn't just that I am on the edge of self-understanding. This brink I'm on is life or death. Really, it is.
That makes it sound like I am about to kill myself. Believe me, that is part of it, but I am not on the verge of suicide at this moment. The brink is more like climbing a mountain and being very near the first plateau. I can either keep climbing a bit longer and make it to my first sign of progress or I can let go of the side of the cliff and fall. I am under no delusions that I am about to reach the mountain's zenith, but I am near a certain recognition of how far I have come. Yet, there is still something within me that craves self-destruction, and it stops me from fully recognizing the steps I have made toward betterment. Something holds me back and convinces me that it isn't real progress unless I am near the zenith.
I had a counseling session on Monday. It was good, but it left me feeling pretty uneasy about myself. We are getting to a stagnant point where we can either talk about what is still really going on inside of me or we might as well stop meeting. It has almost been two years, after all. We have begun to talk about death and suicide--concepts that plague me terribly. I don't want to be that person so dark and selfish. I don't want to be that person who can't recognize her blessings, because I do. I know that I am so blessed. Still, there is this deep darkness that I can't shake. This darkness that makes me think so much about life and death and the meaning of it all instead of things like schoolwork and friends and careers. I don't know if I want a future, so how can I think about it yet?
It was weird to talk about it. I don't think that I expressed myself well. It is the first time that I didn't feel in control of the session, like I was floundering and grasping for a response, because truth be told, I don't know why I want to kill myself. I know that I still struggle quite profoundly with self-hatred, though I can't figure out why. I am much more confident and kind to myself. I feel much more affirmed by the people around me. I feel more intelligent and even, to a certain extent, more capable. So, when she wants me to explain why, I stutter, and my faces burns blood-red. I don't know. I don't know how to explain why when I trip in the hallway or sing a wrong note in choir or make any mistake big or small, I can't help thinking about killing myself.
It's like an addiction, a coping mechanism. It helps me survive by reminding me that I have an escape if I need it. It's sick. The problem is that I seriously consider it, despite all I know about how it affects the people left behind or how there is no feeling of relief or redemption--it just ends. In my religious tradition, I would even go to Hell. Yet, I consider it. I romanticize it. I make it a beautiful drama, when it is a messy punctuation mark. There is nothing romantic about choosing death when others don't get to choose.
We talked about it, but I explained it wrong. I felt like I had to explain in terms of tangible reasons. I mentioned that I fear losing everything and that kind of desperation would make anyone suicidal...but that wasn't really helpful in regard to myself. I do fear those things, and I do think it would lead me to the kind of desperation that ends in suicide. But my problem is that I don't need to be desperate to think about it. It plagues me though I am getting better and happier. Will the thought ever cease? It takes me down, down, down into the depths of nothingness. I don't want to go there, but I don't know how to combat it. And she could help me, I know, but I explain it wrong. I fumble. I lose my words. Because I am ashamed. Because it is exposing my darkness, my very core. Because I want to appear better. But she even recognized that I am still not in the "best" place. I don't want to disappoint her.
I am uneasy. I am not better yet. I don't think I ever will be. I am broken, but who isn't? I am broken, but is there a fix?
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
It amazes me how nearly every song that I listen to reminds me of an exact moment in my life.
Anything by the Click Five reminds me of the baseball games we went to with my Dad's former company. I used to take my CD player (yes, that long ago) and listen to that CD over and over. It makes me want to be a kid again. Life was so simple. I just followed my parents everywhere and listened to my silly pop music that only talked about girlfriends and boyfriends. I miss that simple world.
I have a couple songs from the TV show, Degrassi, on my computer. Any of those remind me of the year when I my brother died. I wrapped myself up in the drama of those teens like a cocoon. It helped me survive.The strange part is that I miss that show because of the companionship. I truly felt a part of that world. Is it weird to miss a place and people that don't exist?
A couple of years ago, before I transferred schools, my friend, Schuyler gave me a Kate Klim CD. It simultaneously reminds me of our relationship and near romance and the fall of my friendship with a group of girls from high school. The overarching feeling is loss. I remember walking for hours, usually midnight or after, through my town. Both hoping and fearing running into them or seeing their cars. But I guess I knew I wouldn't. That's why I went out late at night--no chance of it. I just wanted to fix things. I still do. I still dream about them regularly. I can't undo it, and it makes me want to die.
Adele. Oh, Adele. You remind me of doing my homework in Juniata's auditorium. It would echo off the walls as you crooned and I studied the Life Cycle and Spanish III. I miss that place so much. I miss all the relationships I never had, because I was too shy and too afraid. I miss what my life could have been if I would have just stuck to a major. Now, I am just a mess and totally unmarketable to the workforce. But then again, I wouldn't have changed so much or met the people I did had I never come to Greenville. I don't know what I want. I just want something I can't have, and it makes my heart revolt in my chest. I wish I knew what I wanted. That has always been a problem of mine.
When I hear The Cranberries, I think about middle school. My friend, Patrick introduced me to them in seventh grade social studies. They opened up my vision of the world, but it also reminds me of random things from that time of my life: my incredibly stupid obsession with Kaleb Crouse, my kindred friendship with Stacia-Fe, and for some reason, History Day--a school project we had to do. We made a display case out of wood. In the midst of painting it black, I wrote Kaleb's name in paint, and we had a great deal of trouble covering it up. Stupid. Embarrassing. What a strange time. I would do anything to have it back.
Then, Superchick comes on my playlist, and I am taken back to the first two years of college when I was more depressed than I have ever been, when Devan Glenny's brother, Colin, killed himself, and it put the thought indefinitely in my head. When I was struggling deeply with an eating disorder. When I was consequently much thinner than at this moment. It makes me regret those cookies I just ate.
When Leroy died, and my whole idea of life flipped upside down, and I decided to escape to Greenville. Turns out you can move and still feel the pain from where you came from.
Vanessa Carlton, too, reminds me of the first two years of college. Her smooth voice reminds me of some good times. The group project for Brit Lit that was basically the Real World of the 1600s. Sex--all the time. It reminds me of Gary and the almost "something" we had. We watched Paranormal Activity together. I was ashamed to be alone with a boy, so nothing ever came of it. He's engaged now. It reminds me of the eight block walk to school every morning, and the garden I saw everyday that looked like, perhaps, fairies lived there. It was the last time I even thought of magic. It reminds me of my Death and Dying discussion group and Wyatt, who always let me wear his jacket when we met outside.
Of course, Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone) comes on and takes me back to my brother's funeral. That whole week was unreal. He was fine, we fought, he got sick, he died. I never heard his voice again. I never apologized. I remember sitting in Calculus (which I ended up failing because of his death--at least that's what I claim, maybe I just suck at Calculus) knowing Nate was in the hospital dying. I wrote a poem to the tune of a Duncan Sheik song. Dani Roth sat beside me and said nothing. I never felt more alone than that moment. When no one knows you're about to lose someone you love except you. I knew, even then. I knew when I sat in the ICU waiting room in Altoona on Friday night. I knew that Saturday morning when I took the SATs. I even knew when I went to school on Monday. But it wasn't real until Wednesday, when I got the phone call from my Dad. I heard him tell me he was gone, took the phone up to my mother in bed, then collapsed into my best friend's lap. That's when all the control I had kept over my life and my emotions ceased to exist and I gave up. Everything has been out of control ever since.
Now playing---a Mandy Moore song from Princess Diaries. My mom bought me the second book in the series at a hospital book fair. When I was home sick from school, she would always bring me a present. And that one started a huge obsession. I love everything about Mia Thermopolis. I wish I could have been her.
"Turn it Off" by Paramore. The song I used to cut myself to in my bedroom. "Scraped my knees while I was praying and found a demon in my safest haven." This was fairly close to my first suicide attempt. Not much of an attempt if you don't research how many pills to take. But here I am. Still alive. Still trying to kick the slice and dice habit. Still trying to figure out God.
The Killers remind me of March 3rd. The day Scott Grugan died suddenly on vacation with his family. He worked with my mom and always gave me a pep talk when I visited the hospital. It introduced me to death, and I remember crying every night for a while. Then my mom ended up in the hospital. Good thing I had already confronted death or I wouldn't have been so strong in her health struggles 8th grade on.
Finally, Carly Rae Jepson reminds me of my first musical performance at Greenville. I was in a band with Matt Holland, the first almost "something" I had here. He turned out to be a prick. This performance was terrible. I wore a tie-dye shirt. I couldn't harmonize. When I think back, I think, "There's your sign." I should have known then that I wasn't a musician.
I don't know the point of all this. I just feel like I drown in memories, and I want to go back. I don't know where I would start over, but I want to. I want the chance to be a kid, to really enjoy the moments I just let go. To not be such a freak, such an idiot, such an emotionally constipated dumbass. I feel like my adulthood is about to start, and I want nothing to do with it. I can't imagine it getting better. I don't want it. I don't want it. I want to be young. I want to love life instead of being beaten down by it. It only gets worse from here. The body slowly degrades. We lose friends and gain cats. We gain weight and lose self-respect. Plus, there's the whole ISIS taking over the US thing to look forward to. Stop the world. I want to get off.
Anything by the Click Five reminds me of the baseball games we went to with my Dad's former company. I used to take my CD player (yes, that long ago) and listen to that CD over and over. It makes me want to be a kid again. Life was so simple. I just followed my parents everywhere and listened to my silly pop music that only talked about girlfriends and boyfriends. I miss that simple world.
I have a couple songs from the TV show, Degrassi, on my computer. Any of those remind me of the year when I my brother died. I wrapped myself up in the drama of those teens like a cocoon. It helped me survive.The strange part is that I miss that show because of the companionship. I truly felt a part of that world. Is it weird to miss a place and people that don't exist?
A couple of years ago, before I transferred schools, my friend, Schuyler gave me a Kate Klim CD. It simultaneously reminds me of our relationship and near romance and the fall of my friendship with a group of girls from high school. The overarching feeling is loss. I remember walking for hours, usually midnight or after, through my town. Both hoping and fearing running into them or seeing their cars. But I guess I knew I wouldn't. That's why I went out late at night--no chance of it. I just wanted to fix things. I still do. I still dream about them regularly. I can't undo it, and it makes me want to die.
Adele. Oh, Adele. You remind me of doing my homework in Juniata's auditorium. It would echo off the walls as you crooned and I studied the Life Cycle and Spanish III. I miss that place so much. I miss all the relationships I never had, because I was too shy and too afraid. I miss what my life could have been if I would have just stuck to a major. Now, I am just a mess and totally unmarketable to the workforce. But then again, I wouldn't have changed so much or met the people I did had I never come to Greenville. I don't know what I want. I just want something I can't have, and it makes my heart revolt in my chest. I wish I knew what I wanted. That has always been a problem of mine.
When I hear The Cranberries, I think about middle school. My friend, Patrick introduced me to them in seventh grade social studies. They opened up my vision of the world, but it also reminds me of random things from that time of my life: my incredibly stupid obsession with Kaleb Crouse, my kindred friendship with Stacia-Fe, and for some reason, History Day--a school project we had to do. We made a display case out of wood. In the midst of painting it black, I wrote Kaleb's name in paint, and we had a great deal of trouble covering it up. Stupid. Embarrassing. What a strange time. I would do anything to have it back.
Then, Superchick comes on my playlist, and I am taken back to the first two years of college when I was more depressed than I have ever been, when Devan Glenny's brother, Colin, killed himself, and it put the thought indefinitely in my head. When I was struggling deeply with an eating disorder. When I was consequently much thinner than at this moment. It makes me regret those cookies I just ate.
When Leroy died, and my whole idea of life flipped upside down, and I decided to escape to Greenville. Turns out you can move and still feel the pain from where you came from.
Vanessa Carlton, too, reminds me of the first two years of college. Her smooth voice reminds me of some good times. The group project for Brit Lit that was basically the Real World of the 1600s. Sex--all the time. It reminds me of Gary and the almost "something" we had. We watched Paranormal Activity together. I was ashamed to be alone with a boy, so nothing ever came of it. He's engaged now. It reminds me of the eight block walk to school every morning, and the garden I saw everyday that looked like, perhaps, fairies lived there. It was the last time I even thought of magic. It reminds me of my Death and Dying discussion group and Wyatt, who always let me wear his jacket when we met outside.
Of course, Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone) comes on and takes me back to my brother's funeral. That whole week was unreal. He was fine, we fought, he got sick, he died. I never heard his voice again. I never apologized. I remember sitting in Calculus (which I ended up failing because of his death--at least that's what I claim, maybe I just suck at Calculus) knowing Nate was in the hospital dying. I wrote a poem to the tune of a Duncan Sheik song. Dani Roth sat beside me and said nothing. I never felt more alone than that moment. When no one knows you're about to lose someone you love except you. I knew, even then. I knew when I sat in the ICU waiting room in Altoona on Friday night. I knew that Saturday morning when I took the SATs. I even knew when I went to school on Monday. But it wasn't real until Wednesday, when I got the phone call from my Dad. I heard him tell me he was gone, took the phone up to my mother in bed, then collapsed into my best friend's lap. That's when all the control I had kept over my life and my emotions ceased to exist and I gave up. Everything has been out of control ever since.
Now playing---a Mandy Moore song from Princess Diaries. My mom bought me the second book in the series at a hospital book fair. When I was home sick from school, she would always bring me a present. And that one started a huge obsession. I love everything about Mia Thermopolis. I wish I could have been her.
"Turn it Off" by Paramore. The song I used to cut myself to in my bedroom. "Scraped my knees while I was praying and found a demon in my safest haven." This was fairly close to my first suicide attempt. Not much of an attempt if you don't research how many pills to take. But here I am. Still alive. Still trying to kick the slice and dice habit. Still trying to figure out God.
The Killers remind me of March 3rd. The day Scott Grugan died suddenly on vacation with his family. He worked with my mom and always gave me a pep talk when I visited the hospital. It introduced me to death, and I remember crying every night for a while. Then my mom ended up in the hospital. Good thing I had already confronted death or I wouldn't have been so strong in her health struggles 8th grade on.
Finally, Carly Rae Jepson reminds me of my first musical performance at Greenville. I was in a band with Matt Holland, the first almost "something" I had here. He turned out to be a prick. This performance was terrible. I wore a tie-dye shirt. I couldn't harmonize. When I think back, I think, "There's your sign." I should have known then that I wasn't a musician.
I don't know the point of all this. I just feel like I drown in memories, and I want to go back. I don't know where I would start over, but I want to. I want the chance to be a kid, to really enjoy the moments I just let go. To not be such a freak, such an idiot, such an emotionally constipated dumbass. I feel like my adulthood is about to start, and I want nothing to do with it. I can't imagine it getting better. I don't want it. I don't want it. I want to be young. I want to love life instead of being beaten down by it. It only gets worse from here. The body slowly degrades. We lose friends and gain cats. We gain weight and lose self-respect. Plus, there's the whole ISIS taking over the US thing to look forward to. Stop the world. I want to get off.
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